As I Lay Dying
by T. F. Crosby
Summary: Related to Little Ace. Two men are on a collision course. One seeks to unlock memories revealed in dreams. Another seeks what he has lost and what he never had. Their paths will collide into an explosion of uncertainty and forgotten love. ON HIATUS
1. Chapter 1

Yet another story has infested my brain. This one is associated with "Little Ace." For those of you who have read "Little Ace", ignore the last part of that story that's set in the present with Dark Ace in Cyclonis' citadel. I wasn't able to work that part in where it would make sense. I also want to point out that the title is a bit misleading. None of the canon characters die (can't say the same for any ocs, but that'll come in later) at least not physically anyway. It'll all make sense as the story progresses.

The title comes from the band, not the book. And if you haven't heard of either one then it doesn't really matter. I never heard of the book until I checked out the band's site and read their FAQ page. They didn't name the band after the book. So, anyway...

I've rated this story T, although the next chapter probably warrants an M rating. But we'll cross that proverbial bridge when we get to it.

**-xxx-**

**As I Lay Dying**

**Chapter One: Forgotten Memories **

They couldn't fathom why he was so driven to go there. There was nothing there for him. At least, that's what he had said. So they continued to wonder why his drive was so strong. What they didn't know was that, at that point, he was wondering the same thing himself. He didn't know where the drive was coming from. The truth was, he felt like he was being led there; that there was something that someone wanted him to know. Only…he had no idea what that _something_ or who that _someone_ could be.

It was getting close to midnight and the terra their course was set for was still five hours away. So, by no will of his Sky Knight's, Stork decided to make landfall—as it were—on the nearest terra, regardless of any Talons that may be there (which there probably wasn't). Aerrow wasn't happy with the Merb's decision, but Stork was the pilot (something about the Condor being his…or whatever) and the redhead was too tired to argue. Finn, Junko and Radarr had already found their way to slumberland and now that the Condor was safely nestled in a patch of undergrowth near an outcropping, Stork was headed there himself. Aerrow and Piper were now the only ones awake.

Aerrow sighed. The two were sitting across from each other at the table. The redhead's arms were folded and resting on the table. Piper noticed that the Sky Knight seemed to be staring into oblivion.

"You've been having those dreams again," she said.

"Yeah," he replied. "It's weird, Piper. In the dreams, I know exactly who it is. But as soon as I wake up…."

"Can you remember anything about him?"

"He's a teenager and he's always with a group of other teenagers. Kinda like us." He looked at Piper. "I see him so clearly in my dreams, but when I wake up, the images are completely gone. I try to remember…."

The dreams were putting a lot of undue stress on the teenager and Piper knew it. If only she could find a way to help him remember. She thought for a moment, trying to figure out some questions that may help him remember other details.

"Are you still little?"

"Yeah. Never any older than four."

"Do you remember anything else? Like what he does or something he says."

Aerrow rested his chin on his arms, thinking. "Whenever I see them, I run to him first," he said, raising his head slightly. "He's always the first one I hug. There's something that he calls me but I can't remember what it is. He always plays with me. And reads and sings to me. I love him, and I know he loves me. When he leaves, he always tells me that he loves me and he can't wait to see me again. But I can't remember his voice." He paused. "I always cry when he leaves."

"Do you think you could be related? Like an uncle or something?"

"I don't think so. Not by blood anyway." He groaned. "Man, why is this happening to me?"

"I don't know, Aerrow," said Piper, sympathetically. "I wish I had an answer."

Aerrow stood up, yawning. "I'm going to bed. See ya in the morning."

"Good night," she said to the Sky Knight as he walked through the doorway.

"Good night," he called back.

The navigator sighed. "I wish I could help you," she said to herself. "But I don't know what else to do."

**-xxx-**

_Aerrow stood against the railing of his crib, his left arm hanging over the side, sucking on his pacifier and staring out the window. The boy began jumping up and down, squealing happily as his vibrant green eyes caught sight of the Condor heading towards his home. He may have only been sixteen months old, but the little redhead knew the Condor when he saw it. The toddler squealed louder when he saw a group of teenagers emerge from the Condor and walk across the lawn towards the front door. His eyes locked onto a raven-haired teen in blue. He was talking to a redheaded teen that looked just like the toddler. Or so the boy had been told. Far too many times for the sixteen month old's liking. What? Did they think he didn't get it? He really needed to work on his talking. It seemed as though the raven-haired one was the only one who ever gave him any credit. _

_When the group was out of view, the boy toddled over to the other end of his crib. Hearing footsteps coming towards his room, Aerrow began bouncing up and down. _

_"Where's my Little Ace?" The raven-haired teen poked his head around the doorframe._

_Aerrow squealed with delight as Ace walked over to the crib. The toddler put his arms out for Ace to pick him up._

_"What? You want me to pick you up or somethin'?" said Ace, leaning into the crib._

_What was that word they always used? Oh, yeah._

_"Duh!" the toddler replied, popping his pacifier out of his mouth (And immediately sticking it back in his mouth)._

_"I've taught you well," the teen said, picking the boy up. "Now, as I understand it," he continued, "you, mister, are supposed to be taking a nap."_

_"No," Aerrow replied._

_"No? What do you mean 'no'?"_

_"Sing," the toddler said, pressing his pacifier against Ace's forehead and grinning._

_"I think I've taught you a little too well." The boy giggled as they sat down in the rocking chair. "So, what should I sing?"_

_"Wayn come," Aerrow answered, nestling himself into Ace's arms._

_"The teen smiled and kissed Aerrow on the forehead, "Alright."_

_"Hey." Ace looked up to see Rowan standing in the doorway. "I think you might need this," he said, handing Ace the toddler's bottle. He shook his head at them and walked out._

_"Sing," Aerrow said again, taking his bottle._

_"Shouldn't you be moving up to sippy-cups now?" Ace said. Aerrow shook his head 'no.' "Figures. I suppose I'm supposed to hold it for you." The boy nodded. "And I suppose you think you got me wrapped around your little finger." Aerrow grinned. "Of course, you do."_

_"Wayn come!"_

_"Okay, okay." Ace started to rock and then began singing. "When the rain comes it seems that everyone has gone away. When the night falls you wonder if you shouldn't find someplace…to run and hide, escape the pain. But hiding's such a lonely thing to do._

_"I can't stop the rain, from falling down on you again. I can't stop the rain, but I will hold you 'til it goes away."_

_Aerrow stared up at him as the teenager continued to sing._

_"When the rain comes, you blame it on the things that you have done. When the storm fades, you know that rain must fall on everyone. So rest awhile, it'll be alright. No one loves you like I do._

_"I can't stop the rain from falling down on you again. I can't stop the rain, but I will hold you 'til it hoes away."_

_The toddler's eyes began to droop as "his Ace" went into the final chorus._

_"I can't stop the rain, from falling down on you again. I can't stop the rain, but I will hold you 'til it goes away." Ace hummed the melody as Aerrow's eyes closed. "When the rain comes, I will hold you."_

_As the toddler drifted off, Ace continued to softly rock. This kid thing wasn't so bad. But he was definitely waiting about ten years—give or take._

**-xxx-**

"What's our ETA, Stork?" Aerrow asked, a little anxiously.

"Two hours, give or take a few minutes," replied the Merb.

The Sky Knight groaned. Stork had tried to get out of bed and get the Condor moving before the redhead awoke, but for the first time—ever!—the Sky Knight was waking _him_ up. It wasn't that Aerrow couldn't have moved the carrier out without Stork; it was just that the Merb was paranoid enough and movements from the Condor without him knowing about it before hand would, well…. Aerrow didn't really want to find out.

"Believe me," the Merb continued, staring at Aerrow, "if I _could_ make the Condor go faster, I would." He returned his attention to the instruments, changing his tone. "If only to stop you from asking our ETA every fourteen minutes."

"Well, at least he's moved down from every six minutes," said Finn, in his usual non-helpful way. Stork glared at him. "What?"

Aerrow plopped down in a chair and laid his head on the table, sighing.

"You okay, dude?" asked Finn.

The redhead propped his elbows up on the table. "I don't know….It's just…."

"You had another one of those dreams last night, didn't you?" said the blond, taking a seat next to him.

"Yeah," the Sky Knight replied, soberly. "I wish I could remember."

Finn hung his head. There was something he had to tell his Sky Knight; but he didn't know how, or if Aerrow would even believe him. "Hey, Aerrow?"

"I'm going down to the hangar," Aerrow said, not hearing Finn. "Let me know when we get there."

Finn watched him walk off the bridge. He wanted to follow after him, but….

"If you have something to say to him, tell him," said Stork. "Don't stay here and annoy me."

"How does he do that?" said Finn, as he walked off the bridge.

When the door closed, Stork sighed. "Finally. Peace." A loud crash rattled through the Condor. Then he heard Piper yell,

"Radarr!"

"I don't care," the Merb said to himself. "It's nowhere near me."

**-xxx-**

Aerrow sat on the floor of the hangar, leaning against the wall. He didn't like bothering his friend's like this, but he had to know. If there was even the slightest chance that there was something there that could help him remember, he had to take it. Not remembering who these people were was bothersome enough and while the dreams themselves were more comforting than disquieting he had had one dream that stood on its own; a rather disturbing dream, one that terrified him.

**-xxx-**

_It was dark. It would have been pitch black had it not been for the candles sitting on his dresser. He sat on the floor, flush against the wall, his knees pulled up close to his chest. His left elbow was resting on his same-side knee, forearm sticking straight up. There were numerous horizontal cuts up and down the inside of his arm, small, but releasing their share of blood. A long vertical cut ran down the side of his arm. The blood oozed down his arm, dripping onto his pants. His right forearm was resting on the other knee, a Bowie knife held loosely in his hand._

_He stared blankly at the doorway, hoping no one would come round; yet at the same time, praying somebody would. He knew they knew what he did in his solitude; that which he found in the veil of night. But they never asked why. He wished they would. He had his reasons, many of which now lay dying somewhere deep within his soul. Oh, how he wished someone would ask him why he took a blade to his own flesh. Maybe then…maybe then, __**he**__ would remember why._

**-xxx-**

"Hey, Aerrow?"

Aerrow looked up. Finn was standing next to him, looking a little forlorn.

"Hey, Finn. What's wrong?"

The blond sat down in front of him. He sighed, unsure of where to begin. "This is gonna sound weird and I don't know if you'll even believe me."

"What is it?" asked Aerrow, acknowledging the seriousness in his sharpshooter's tone.

"It's about your dreams," said Finn, slowly.

"What about them?"

The blond racked his brain for the right words to use. "Please don't get mad at me for this, but I…." He trailed off.

Aerrow waited for him to continue, but when the sharpshooter's eyes kept darting around the hangar as if he were afraid to look his Sky Knight in the eyes, the redhead spoke.

"Finn." Aerrow laid his hand on his friend's shoulder. "I promise I won't get mad at you."

The blond took a deep breath and looked his friend in the eyes. "I know who it is."

"What? Who?" Aerrow looked at him perplexed. "What are you talking about?"

"In your dreams," Finn said, frustrated with himself. "That guy you keep talking about. The one who's always playing with you, sings to you and all that. The one you can't remember."

"Yeah."

"I know who it is."

He knew Finn wasn't being facetious. The redhead could see right through Finn's pretentiousness—when there was any pr3etention to be had. However, that was not the case at the moment. Something was bothering the blond and he seemed to be afraid to tell Aerrow what that something was.

"Who is it?" Aerrow said, encouragingly. "You can tell me, Finn."

The sharpshooter was ready to speak when Stork's voice came over the intercom. "We're there."

Immediately forgetting that Finn was about to tell him something, the Sky Knight, with his mind racing, ran for the bridge, leaving his friend in mid-sentence.

"Wait! Aerrow it's—" Finn stood silently, hanging his head. "Dark Ace."

**-xxx-**

Though the old house hadn't been lived in for over ten years it looked as though it had just recently been built. But the Storm Hawks knew from experience that appearances can be deceiving, which was why Stork made it painfully obvious that he was _not_ going to step foot off the Condor. And the Merb also made it a point to advise everyone else of how _dangerous_ going into that house could be. Aside from there being various creatures lurking about that could be carrying various diseases, he warned, they could be crushed by falling debris. The rest of the squad just looked at him for a moment and then turned to leave, giving the pilot a "Sure, Stork" and a "We got it."

"Are you sure this place is even unlocked?" Finn said, dragging his feet.

"No one's lived here for over ten years," Piper returned. "I don't think locking the door is all that important."

"And even if it is," Aerrow added, "Junko can just knock the door down."

"That won't be necessary."

The group stopped and turned their attention from each other to a man leaning against the porch railing.

"Uh, hi," Aerrow said, dully.

_Well, that was intelligent, Aerrow_, he thought to himself.

"Who are you?" Finn asked, rather blatantly.

The man grinned, moving away from the railing. He appeared to be in his early thirties and judging by the way he was dressed, was probably a Sky Knight himself; or a member of a squadron. Or perhaps even (though the Storm Hawks hoped not) a Talon. However, his demeanor made the latter unlikely. But the Storm Hawks knew they still had to air on the side of caution.

"The name's Andrew," he said, walking towards them. "I suppose you could say I'm the caretaker of this place."

His black, spiky-hair stuck straight up on top and stuck out in back, much like Finn's. Stepping out from the shadows the sunlight caught his hair, revealing tinges of green, a stark contrast to his bright, crimson eyes. Along with his tall, slender frame, his overall appearance reminded all of them of their feared enemy, Dark Ace. It wasn't that the man actually _looked_ like Dark Ace, but his similar build, facial shape and eyes gave him the air of the Talon commander.

"I'm Aerrow," the young Sky Knight said, extending his hand. "Leader of the Storm Hawks." He pointed back to his friends. "That's Piper, Junko and Finn. And this is Radarr." He pointed to the blue, furry creature on his shoulder. "Stork refused to leave the Condor."

"He's a little loopy," Finn said and immediately received an elbow in the gut from Piper.

Andrew chuckled. He looked at Aerrow and said, "So, what brings the Storm Hawks out here?"

"I don't really know," Aerrow replied, looking up at Andrew.

"Well, whatever the reason for your being here," the man said with a smile, "you're welcome to explore. Everything's unlocked. I'll be out here if you need anything."

He walked to the opposite end of the house as the group walked up onto the porch and into the house. Finn stopped while Aerrow and Piper walked in and watched the so-called caretaker move a couple apple boxes.

"What's wrong, Finn?" asked Junko, noticing the look on the blond's face.

"I'm not sure," he replied, "but there's something odd about that guy. Not anything bad, it's just…." He trailed off. "I don't know. Maybe it's just me."

"You two comin'?" Aerrow called out.

"Yeah, we're comin'," Finn called back. He glanced back at the man and sighed.

The two walked in through the entryway and into the living room where Aerrow and Piper were standing. (Radarr was running around sniffing everything.) Their footsteps echoed through the empty room.

"Check out the fireplace," Finn said, awestruck.

The fireplace was built into the end of the brown-brick wall dividing the living room and kitchen, allowing heat to escape from three sides.

Junko walked into the kitchen and looked out the door into the backyard. "Wow…. That's a big backyard. Hey, there's a swing set still out there."

Hearing the Wallop's comment, Aerrow walked into the kitchen and looked out the window. Staring at the swing set, an old memory of himself playing on the slide flashed through his mind. He vaguely recalled an older boy, a teenager most likely, being there with him. However, as with his dreams, he couldn't recall the teenager's face.

"Was that your swing set?" the Wallop asked.

"I think it was," the redhead replied, a little dazed by the fact he was even at his early childhood home. "I'm gonna go upstairs."

Piper walked down the hallway next to the stairs, peering into the rooms on both sides. The rooms were much bigger than she thought they would be. Of course, living on the Condor made the rooms seem absolutely massive.

Finn, with Radarr now on his shoulder, was still admiring the fireplace when he noticed Aerrow heading up the stairs. With Junko and Piper pre-occupied, he decided to follow his Sky Knight to the second floor.

"So, which room was yours?" asked Finn, as he and Radarr reached the top of the stairs.

"I think it was this one," Aerrow replied, peering into the first room on the left.

He walked into the room, eyes darting every which way, with Finn and Radarr following. Aerrow looked out the window. He had a perfect view of the Condor.

"Nice view," said Finn, now standing next to the redhead. "Bet you saw the Condor land every time they came by."

"Yeah…," Aerrow said, slowly.

Upon realizing what he had said, Finn turned to Aerrow saying, "Dude, I have no idea where that…." He trailed off, noticing that Aerrow wasn't paying attention. The sixteen year old was obviously in his own world. Radarr cocked his head to the side and chattered at Finn. The blond shrugged.

The Sky Knight turned away from the window and walked the length of the room, running his hand through the air, recalling his bedroom from memory—or perhaps a dream.

"In one of my dreams," Aerrow began, as if in a trance, "I'm in my crib, staring out the window. I'm supposed to be taking a nap, but I refuse to sleep. I'm waiting for someone. When he finally gets here, he picks me up out of my crib, talking to me. We go over to the rocking chair…." Aerrow walked to the other side of the window. "He holds me and starts rocking. Somebody brings up my bottle and then leaves. I tell him to sing. And when he gives me my bottle he starts to sing."

Finn watched as his friend relived a dream—and possibly a memory. The blond was intrigued by his Sky Knight's actions; he had never seen Aerrow so mellow and transfixed as he was. Finn began to fall into a trance himself as Aerrow began to sing.

"When the rain comes, it seems that everyone has gone away. When the night comes, you wonder if you shouldn't find someplace…to run and hide, escape the pain. But hiding's such a lonely thing to do.

"I can't stop the rain from falling down on you again. I can't stop the rain, but I will hold you 'til it goes away."

Aerrow began humming the song as he walked around the room, his hand moving through the air as if tracing invisible furniture.

"Is that the song he sang to you?" Finn asked, softly.

"Yeah, it is," Aerrow replied, giving Finn a half-smile. "It's one of my favorite songs."

They walked out of the bedroom and down to the end of the hallway. On the right, a white door was sitting half open.

"The attic," Aerrow said, opening the door completely. He began walking up the steps but stopped when he didn't hear any footsteps behind his. "You comin'?"

"Uh, yeah," said Finn, he and Radarr now following.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Aerrow felt a cool breath of air hit his face. Directly in front of him, sitting flush against the wall was an old mahogany trunk. The two teens walked over to the trunk, the floorboards creaking with every step they took.

"I wonder what's in this thing," Finn said, kneeling before the trunk alongside Aerrow.

"Exactly what I'm looking for," Aerrow replied, non-chalantly.

"And you know this…how?"

"I just do."

He lifted the trunk lid and peered inside. The trunk was full of photo albums, manila envelopes, posters and, what Finn thought, video tapes.

"Photo albums," Aerrow breathed, picking one up. Radarr hopped from Finn's shoulder to his.

He opened the album up to the first page. It was mostly filled with pictures of landscapes as well as the house. A few pages in he came to a photo of a small redheaded toddler standing in his crib, grinning. Finn started to laugh.

"Aerrow! Finn!" Piper called out.

Finn stood up and walked to the stairs. "We're in the attic!"

"Tell her to get Junko," Aerrow said. "We're taking the trunk with us."

The Sky Knight picked up another album. "Hey, Aerrow," Finn said as Aerrow flipped through the album.

"Yeah, what is it?"

Before the blond could answer, Aerrow continued with, "What was it you were going to tell me back in the hangar?"

"It's about that person you keep dreaming about. You know the one who always sings to you and all that."

"Yeah."

"I know who it is."

Aerrow continued to flip through the album. "Who is it?"

"You're not gonna believe this and you probably won't like it, but it's…."

"Dark Ace." Aerrow breathed the name.

In an eight by ten photograph, with the Condor in the background, was a toddler version of himself and a teenage Dark Ace sitting on a skimmer.

**-xxx-**

Two men stood silently in front of a building, evidently awaiting the arrival of someone. One held a small box in his hands, tapping it with his thumbs. The other, taller and box-less, rocked back and forth on his heels, arms folded across his chest.

"Waiting for someone," a slightly nasal and rather annoying voice said from behind them.

"Is it difficult for you to _not _be annoying?" the box-less one said, turning to a man dressed in odd armor.

"Well, that was rude," the man said casually.

"Look, Birdbrain," the box-less one began.

"Stop." The one with the box put his hand in front of the other one. He turned his attention to the armored man. "We need you to deliver this to someone."

"And just who might the lucky recipient be?" the man said, taking the box. Reading the name on the box he said, "You're joking, right?" The other two stared at him. "Oh, you're serious." He stared back. "Do I have to?" They were now glaring. "Okay, fine. But I'm not delivering it right to him. That man's scary."

"Just go," the taller one said.

"Fine, fine," the man said, leaving.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" the taller one said.

"Sending the message?"

"No. Sending him to deliver it."

"Who else are we gonna get to do it?"

**-xxx-**

The story will pick back up with Aerrow and the gang in chapter three. The next chapter's sole focus will be on Dark Ace. Hopefully I'll have it up some time next week.

I hope you enjoyed it. Reviews are appreciated. Seriously, they are. (hint, hint)


	2. Chapter 2: At the Mercy of the Thorns

I recently became borderline obssessed with the song "Thorns" by Demon Hunter. For whatever reason, this song (in part) compelled me to write this chapter. I wrote this first and the rest of the story is more or less built around it.

**Warnings: **This chapter deals with forms of self-inflicted pain, mainly cutting. It's not terribly graphic, but it is not sugar-coated by any means. Just so you know. (It's a bit disturbing really)

**Song: **Thorns by Demon Hunter

**-xxx-**

**Chapter Two: At the Mercy of the Thorns**

"_Oh, the deliverance of blade and flame. Your love, and greater is the blood."_

— _from "Thorns" by Demon Hunter_

His bed chamber was massive, second only to Master Cyclonis'. He had been awarded it by her father as a gift for exemplary service (Or so he said. The new Talon didn't argue his reasoning.) not long after the newly named Dark Ace arrived. The chamber was divided into a main living area, complete with a couch, chairs, and coffee and end tables, but leaving ample room for physical training, such as martial arts; a study open to the main room, having a large oak desk and chair and a mahogany trunk situated on the opposite wall of the desk; and his bedroom, consisting of a king-size, four-post, oak-frame bed, oak dresser and bookshelves, which could be cut off from the main room by a sliding wood door. The bathroom was situated off the southeast corner of his bedroom; it was large, having the bath and shower separate. There wasn't much to it all, as far as décor, but it had the essentials and that was enough for him. It kept him secluded from everyone else, Cyclonis included.

In fact, the chamber itself was secluded from the rest. It was the intention of his previous master. The elder Cyclonis had wanted the young man isolated, away from others, so as not to impede on his "re-education." And it worked. _To a point_. However, the re-education did nothing to ease the pain of what he had done. He had his own methods for that; methods that he still used, but for reasons he could no longer remember.

**-xxx-**

_Solitude_. There was nothing Dark Ace craved more when he was on Cyclonia. He didn't mind being around people; some more than others. But he liked being by himself, being the lone wolf. He wasn't the partying type. Constantly being around a multitude of others was annoying. However, there was one he enjoyed being around. She may instill fear in most men…. It wasn't by any kind of power she had; like him, she was subservient. The woman was just scary. So she was a bit uptight—a perfectionist—and prone to fits of rage. He found them to be endearing qualities. _As long as he wasn't on the receiving end of those fits of rage._

He smirked, sinking lower into the water and flicking bubbles onto his face. His left arm was sore; he had cut deeper this time, unintentionally. He would've gone for the right arm as well, but he knew he was due for a mission of some kind. He sighed. He didn't want to go on any mission, not now. Of course, he could just leave and never return. It was often tempting—_for many reasons_.

He lifted his left arm out of the water. The inside of his forearm was covered with cuts and bruises, some healing, some fresh. He ran his right hand along his arm, stopping at the large scar just before the crook of his elbow, the remnant of a self-inflicted wound that nearly ended his young life. And it would have, had it not been for a young Talon two years his senior. Dark Ace befriended the young man shortly after arriving on Cyclonia. He had been giving off the aura that he hated everyone and everything, but the young Talon, who introduced himself as Jeriah, saw right through his contemptuous façade. No matter how much of a jackass Dark Ace was towards him, Jeriah never turned his back on him, never left his side; something that Dark Ace became more than grateful for. Another thing that made Jeriah stand out among all others in the service of Cyclonia, Jeriah never once called him "Dark Ace."

Dark Ace's self-inflicted pain grew mightily after Jeriah was killed. He had saved Ace's life on more than one occasion—that night he nearly killed himself being the greatest—but he couldn't save Jeriah's life, not once. That day…the day Jeriah was senselessly killed—murdered—would forever be seared into his memory. He, Jeriah, and a small group of young Talons were taking a break off-terra at a neutral outpost on Terra Loch. They were hanging-out around the outpost, out of uniform; when they became caught up in a roaming fight between a group of rogue Wallops and humans and another group of outlaws of varying species. His group tried to avoid the skirmish but was unwittingly pulled in. A Sky Knight squadron, whom he recognized as the Wild Cards of Terra Barataria, was at the outpost and happened upon the fight. The squadron stepped in, enabling Dark Ace and the rest of his group to escape; but Jeriah….Dark Ace didn't know who had driven his blade through his friend, his back had been turned at the moment. When he turned back around all he saw was Jeriah on his knees, clutching his chest and one of the Wild Cards standing over him, staring—and holding a bloody sword.

Whether or not it had been the Wild Card that had stabbed Jeriah mattered little to Dark Ace at that moment, all he could see was a dying Jeriah. He rushed to his friend's side and dragged him away from the fight. Dark Ace could hear the yelling and clashing of blades, but it all seemed so distant. He held onto Jeriah as the young man coughed up blood and gasped for air. Two from their group ran for help, but they would return too late. Jeriah died in Ace's arms.

That day should have filled him with an even greater desire to put a stop to the Cyclonian expansion, to carry on the beliefs he and Jeriah shared; but it didn't. It only built a long-standing hatred within him. It was yet another epiphany.

Dark Ace's mind drifted back to the day Jeriah saved him from his self-inflicted death, as he dried off and dressed.

**-xxx-**

_He sat alone in his darkened room, dimly lit by candles. Ace had no use for crystals in his solitude; the purity of true fire did more to soothe his darkened soul than any crystal ever could. He held the small, sharp blade tightly in his right hand, staring at the burning three-wicked candle sitting on his dresser. There were numerous cuts on both his arms between his wrist and elbow, many of which were still bleeding. There was a long slash on his chest and torso, running from his right breast to his ribs on the left. It was superficial and part of it had already stopped bleeding; the slash was even from one end to the other. His ambidexterity was paying off in more ways than one._

_The slightest movement of air caused the restless flames of the candle to stir, casting strange cavorting shadows upon the wall. The candles arranged on his bookshelves and headboard did a silent waltz of their own. He stood up, staring at the flames on his dresser as the shadows continued their deathly dance. He stood flush against the tapestried wall, wincing as his newly seared flesh touched the delicately woven cloth of the tapestry. The cast-iron rod, now cooled, lay lifeless on the floor next to his bed. A remnant of Cyclonia's long forgotten past; he found the rod in the boiler room of a smelter a week ago. Tonight was the first time he had used it. Cutting was no longer enough. Staring on impassively, he lifted his still bleeding left arm in front of his face and placed the bloody blade on his forearm an inch from the crook of his arm. As he began to slowly cut across his arm, a loud, thunderous boom rattled his room. Startled, he cut quick and deep into his flesh. He let out a low grunt, dropping the blade and clasping the wound with his hand as blood poured from the gash. He fell to his knees, writhing in a physical pain he had never felt before. He wanted to scream. Blood began to pool beneath him. He was beginning to feel light-headed and was ready to pass out, when he heard running footsteps ; then pounding on his door; then someone yelling, yelling his name. Someone…Jeriah? The door opened and the lights came on, blinding him. Jeriah grabb3ed the towel off the bed and wrapped it around Ace's arm. _

_"Ace," said Jeriah. "Ace, look at me." He looked at Jeriah briefly and then fell into darkness._

**-xxx-**

Dark Ace stared into the mirror. He may not have looked like death warmed over, but he definitely _felt_ like death warmed over. He walked out of the bathroom and collapsed onto his bed. It was cool on his bare back—a little to cool. He sat up, sighing heavily. He walked to his dresser, grabbed his shirt and pulled it on. Walking out of his bedroom and into the main room, he stopped at the window, pushed the curtains aside and peered out into the Cyclonian night. There wasn't much difference between daytime and eventide on the parched and crenulated terra. But the longer you lived on Cyclonia, he learned, you could discern one from the other. He however, even after twelve years of servitude, still couldn't tell the difference. It didn't really matter to him though.

On occasion, he would stare out the window of the main room or his study, longing for the open air and blue skies of the many uncharted terras he had come across since his journey to his current position first began. He would sit and stare, holding tightly to a blade of some kind; old Odessa-style hunting knives were the best.. They had a comfortable grip and were easy to handle. A simple, eight-inch steel blade; pure, flawless steel, always sharp. Then after twenty minutes or so, he would get up and head to his bedroom; light a few candles; turn off the lights; sit down against the wall opposite the door; and, at some point, begin to cut his flesh.

Letting the curtains fall closed, he winced at the thought. He held his left arm close to his chest, taking a deep breath, as it began to throb. He walked over to the couch and sat down, still holding his throbbing arm. The couch was situated directly across from the fireplace, something he insisted on having. Though he received quizzical looks for the request, no one said anything. Despite his being younger than most of them (though now many were younger than him), no one crossed him; especially after Jeriah's death. Not that asking him why he wanted a wood-burning fireplace would have been a big deal, but each new Talon learned you did not press your luck and you shut your mouth when a superior told you to. As Dark Ace was told when he first pledged his allegiance to Cyclonia, by the then Talon commander Rannick, "When someone tells you to hold your tongue, do it. Otherwise, they may do it for you."

Dark Ace smirked, remembering what had initially popped into his head when he had been told. He quickly learned not to be so literal. And not to say _exactly_ what he thought _exactly_ when he thought it. It was something that got him into loads of trouble with his superiors—and Ravess. He grinned. _Mostly Ravess_. He still had bumps on his head from getting smacked with her bow or by the violin. Dark Ace swore he _felt_ her violin more than he heard it. His grin faded when his eyes caught the cast-iron rod lying in front of the chain-mail fire screen. He hadn't used it since his last mission. Yet another mission in which he encountered the Storm Hawks, encountered Aerrow. He relived that day, now twelve years ago, every time he saw the redheaded Sky Knight; a silent and surreptitious torture that plagued him, no matter how much pain he inflicted upon himself at the end of each meeting.

With the throbbing finally subsiding, he let his arm fall onto the arm of the couch; but he didn't remove his gaze from the cast-iron rod. The rod seemed to stare back at him with a look of innocence; of helplessness, that it could do nothing on its own. It had no will. It did that only of its bearer. His mind began to wander again as the rod lay in front of the fireplace in a deadly silence.

**-xxx-**

_The fire was started as soon as he walked into his chamber. He stoked the fire until he felt a satisfactory amount of heat. When the flames and heat were to his liking, he placed the cast-iron rod halfway into the fire. He then headed to the bathroom for a shower. It had been his first mission, since Jeriah's death, as commander of a squadron. And it wouldn't be long before he was commander of the entire Talon Army. His commissioning as Rannick's second in command had all but guaranteed it. _

_When he finished his shower, dressing only in his pajama bottoms, he headed back into the main room to check the rod. It was warm, not hot enough to do much damage. It wouldn't even hurt if he tried it now. He walked back into the bedroom and grabbed the hunting knife off his dresser. He studied its freshly cleansed blade for a moment, then headed back into the main room. He stopped in front of the window, which ran not quite floor to ceiling, and pulled the curtains back just enough to look out at the desolate landscape. He sat down on the floor and stared out the window, turning the knife in his hand, the blade reflecting the light as it turned. He had, initially, that he wasn't going to cut tonight, however…. The mission had ended on a sour note for him and it wasn't something he wanted to relive. He ran his left index finger along the flat edge of the blade, tracing the straight edge and then the curve. He wondered what they would think if they knew what he was doing to himself. Would they try to stop him? Probably. No…not probably. They would. He placed the blade in the middle of his forearm. He closed his eyes and slowly drew the blade across his arm, feeling his skin open up as images of their faces flashed through his mind. They were sad…but for what? Because of what he did to them? Or was it…? He made a few more cuts to his left arm before switching to the right. They were all superficial. They would heal in no time._

_After Jeriah's death his self-inflicted torture took a different path. He could no longer remember why he began cutting in the first place. His reasons had changed; his vision had been lost, taken away—stolen—from him, along with Jeriah. The mission he had set for himself five years ago, before inevitably submitting to the will of Master Cyclonis, was now lost to him. All he could remember was their faces; what happened. But why? Why did he do it?_

_He opened his eyes and looked out the window. There was no change in the landscape before him. Nothing different. As bleak as ever. But then, there was an eerie beauty to it. History books said that Cyclonia was once one of the most beautiful terras in Atmos. Of course, that was long before he was born. _

_Sighing, he stood up, arms hanging at his sides. He could feel the blood trickling down his arms. Taking one last look out the window he pulled the curtains closed, smearing blood on the fabric. Not that anyone would notice. The crimson-colored curtains matched his blood. It was the color he requested and no one argued the decision or made any kind of remark. However, even he had to admit that it was a little strange. That particular color was not something most people would choose—for anything. He wasn't sure why he had chosen that color. In some ways it disturbed him._

_He walked past the end table, laying the knife down, and sat down on his knees in front of the fireplace. The flames deathly waltz reflected in his eyes. He reached for the rod's handle (which he had made out of foam rubber) and lifted the hot iron out of the fire. He raised the rod up in front of himself with both hands. Sitting up, but still on his knees, he straightened his arms out, holding the rod like a sword. Bracing himself, he took in a deep breath and raised the rod above his head. He bowed his head, closing his eyes tightly, and brought the rod down onto his back. He fell forward, crying out in pain, as the aroma of burning flesh filled the room. The rod began to stick to his skin. With a loud and forceful cry, he ripped the iron rod off his back, throwing it to the edge of the fireplace. He fell onto his stomach, staring at the rod that had taken bits of skin. Everything around him became hazy; his eyes wouldn't focus. Finally, his eyes closed and he drifted into darkness._

**-xxx-**

He woke up in the med-wing of the citadel two days later. Ravess was sitting next to his bed (something he hadn't expected) and had hold of his hand (something he had expected less). Apparently, she had found him. She possibly may have heard his painful cry. If she had, she didn't tip her hand. And whether or not she had gotten him to the med-wing and was still there with him out of concern for him, he didn't care; he was just grateful that she was. He didn't ask her if she had been there the entire time, it felt too awkward to do so. She, like Jeriah, knew that he cut and burned himself, which was part of the reason he was still alive. But she never asked him why he did it; no one did. He often wished someone would, because maybe then, he would remember himself.

He got up off the couch and walked back over to the window, pulling the curtains back just enough for him to see out. Looking out across the terrain once again, the sound of Ravess' violin played through his mind. She made a record for him a number of years ago upon his request. He would often play to it when he was sitting in his solitude in his candlelit room, holding the buck knife. Her music was beautiful, unlike his own darkened song; a song that his soul continuously bled. He leaned into the window, pressing his face against the glass. His mind started to drift as a purple-red haze fell over the saw-toothed vista. The hypnotic colors of Cyclonia's landscape could put one in a trance. Its seductive beauty could pull one's soul from its vessel and send it soaring across the desiccated land and to a zenith, all on a single breath of air. It had happened to him.

He was pulled from his own trance by the sound of knocking at his chamber door.

"What is it?" Dark Ace stoically asked the young Talon before him.

"A delivery for you, Sir" he said, handing the man a small box. "It was mistakenly delivered to my quarters."

"Yeah, by who?" the commander asked, unconsciously, staring at the box.

"A bird…Sir," the young Talon replied, uneasily, hoping Dark Ace wouldn't take him for an idiot.

Dark Ace looked at him. "_A bird_?"

"Uh, yes…Sir." Dark Ace stared at him with a quizzical look. The young Talon stared back. "You're making me nervous, Sir."

"Oh, sorry," Dark Ace replied, blinking rapidly.

_That's weird_, the Talon thought. _There's gotta be something wrong with him._

It wasn't that Dark Ace snapped at people for every little thing (Or really at all. His stoicism could be creepy at times, almost to the point of being fatalistic.), but as far as the young Talon was concerned, the man's demeanor was a bit unusual. Clearly, he was preoccupied with something. And this wasn't the first time the young Talon had noticed his superior acting oddly. He had heard "things" from higher ranking officers, but he shrugged it off as hearsay.

"What's your name?" Dark Ace asked.

"Jonah, Sir," the Talon replied, bewildered as to why Dark Ace would bother to ask.

But now he was beginning to wonder if the rumors weren't actually rumors at all. Personally asking a subordinate's name was not in the Talon commander's nature…as far as Jonah knew. It was starting to weird him out.

"May I go, Sir?"

"Uh, yeah. You're dismissed." The Talon saluted and turned to leave. "Hold on."

"Yes, Sir."

"What kind of bird was it?" the commander queried.

"I believe it was a Mynall bird, Sir," Jonah replied.

"_Mynall bird? Huh_." Dark Ace thought for a moment, looking off to the side. The young Talon stared at him. He turned back to see Jonah still standing at the doorway.

"Anything else, Sir?"

"No….Thanks."

He closed the door and walked into his study. The box was small; but big enough to hold a crystal, which is what he imagined to be in it. He sat down at his desk and opened the box.

"A message crystal?" _Who in Atmos would send him a message crystal? And why was it delivered to the wrong quarters? And by whom? _"Mynall bird…." He mulled over the description. Then it hit him. "Mynall—Why would he…?"

He activated the crystal. The voice he heard emanating from the stone shook him to the core. "No…." He shook his head in disbelief. "That's impossible."

He stretched his arm out across the desk, staring at the crystal; the voice echoing in his head. He felt something touch his hand. He looked to see what he had touched. It was something he hadn't given thought to in years.

_The toy skimmer._

The message concluded with a statement that nearly put him on the floor.

Dark Ace's hand, the hand that was touching the toy skimmer, began to tremble.

"Rowan…."

**-xxx-**

If you haven't read "Little Ace" I recommend doing so. Much of this story will make more sense. (And remember, the last part of that story, the part set in the present time should just be disregarded for the sake of this story.) I've put the lyrics to the song "Thorns" in my profile. Reading the lyrics will help you understand what was going through my mind when I wrote the chapter and will (hopefully) help you understand the chapter (and possibly story) a little better. If you desire to do so. You don't have to. Below is the story behind the song. I felt compelled to put it in here. I felt it was important to the chapter and story.

**Behind the Song:**  
"In the few months before I began writing lyrics for this record, I was hearing a lot about cutting. This, for those who don't know is the act of inflicting pain on one's self (often times by cutting with a knife, or burning with a lighter) in order to take their mind off of some emotional pain. Although I don't personally know anyone who has dealt with this (that I am aware of), the idea of writing a song about it was really placed on my heart. I guess I thought I might be able to speak to some young people about this particular issue. I couldn't help but draw a connection between someone wanting to inflict pain on themselves and Jesus having been sacrificed so that we wouldn't need to bare the guilt of sin. My thought was that Christ had already been cut for us, so there was no need for us to inflict pain on ourselves. That work has been paid for in full by the cross. The chorus lyrics hope that this person (represented by a young female in the song) might find this truth in her darkest of times, when she realizes that the emptiness she hoped would leave after inflicting this pain, still remains. Her flesh, broken, is emptiness. Christ's flesh broken is mercy for us." – Ryan Clark, Demon Hunter

_For God was pleased to have all his fullness dwell in him, and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether things on earth or things in heaven, by making peace through his blood, shed on the cross._ -Colossians 1:19, 20

Like Ryan Clark, I do not know anybody that has dealt with this (not that I'm aware of). But like I said, I felt compelled to write it. Thanks for reading all the way through. (If you did.)


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